


Unspoken Promises

by AzaleaBlue



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Light Angst, Romance, The Deathly Hallows
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-11
Updated: 2019-03-11
Packaged: 2019-11-15 10:29:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18071699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AzaleaBlue/pseuds/AzaleaBlue
Summary: Confessions of love don't necessarily need to be spoken aloud, as long as they are heard.





	Unspoken Promises

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CallieSkye](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CallieSkye/gifts).



> beta credits: remedialpotions. Written as a birthday present for @callieskye

The last of the sheets were folded, every inch of the house scrubbed clean and the pantry stuffed with enough food to feed an army when finally, Molly decided that they were prepared for the Delacours.

Exhausted and looking forward to a quiet moment to herself, Hermione trudged up the rickety stairs, mentally going through the list of items she still needed to pack. Ginny was still out with the boys, playing Quidditch.  As for Hermione, she needed a lie down first followed by a shower later.

She pushed the door and it opened with a familiar creak. Rubbing her eyes with her palms, she dropped her wand on the bedside table and without further ado, got rid of her shoes, flexing her toes as she sat herself down. The mattress sank a little under her weight. She patted on her pillow, mentally ticking off the list of potion bottles that had been packed as she lay down, a blissful exhale escaping her as her aching muscles relaxed. Within a few short minutes, she was fast asleep.

…

“I'm off to take a shower,” declared Harry, brushing off the dirt from his jeans before he quickly looked behind him.

“Lucky Mum didn't see you soiling the house with that filth, Harry!” quipped Fred as he pushed Ron and Harry aside to climb ahead. “And unless you intend to see this work of art in all its glory,” he paused momentarily to point at himself, “I'd suggest you enter the bath later,” he laughed, dashing his way up.

“Oi!” shrieked Harry, hastening his steps as George tackled him again.

“Third in line and speed up, ballerina. Gin is right behind you!”

Ron ignored his siblings and their usual squabbling to use the washroom first as he leisurely walked up to his room, rubbing his right shoulder that had taken a blow during the match.

His thoughts drifted to Hermione, and he wondered if he could take a quick peek in Gin's room. She had come back inside almost an hour ago, looking exhausted. He had been distracted, watching her leave, when the quaffle had hit him squarely on his shoulder, narrowly missing the hoop he was guarding. By the time Ginny had finished yelling at him for being lovestruck when he ought to be concentrating on his goalkeeping duties, Hermione had already left the clearing.

He pushed open the door, immediately taking off his t-shirt by grabbing it behind his neck and throwing it at the foot of his bed, and did a double take. Right there, on _his_ very bed, hugging _his_ pillow was the girl he was secretly crazy about. Well, not very secretly anymore, he guessed.

Unable to believe the adorable sight in front of him, he squinted at first before rubbing his eyes with his hands. Surely he must be dreaming. He took a step forward and knelt, carefully grabbing the edge of his bed, inches from where her bare feet lay.

Hermione (the real one, too!) was very much there in his room, sleeping peacefully on _his_ bed. _Blimey, he was never going to change that sheet- ever._ He watched her sleeping form, his heart swelling with an emotion he was too scared to name.

She was sleeping on her right, facing Harry's empty bed, one hand tucked under her- no, he corrected himself, _his_ pillow. He wondered what had led to this happening- did she actually intend to sleep on his bed in his absence? Or had she merely dozed off while reading? Was he reading more into this just because it gave him hope?

His eyes locked on her left palm that lay flat over the pillow and paused on her ring finger. A longing from deep inside his heart surfaced, and he felt his neck burn. _Boy, was he getting ahead of himself or what..._

He pushed away the embarrassment to take her in. Locks of unruly curls framed her face. They seemed to have escaped the elastic that she had used to make an untidy ponytail. She was still wearing the green dress from before, the one that ended right at her knees and was now bunched a little higher at the back, giving him a glorious vision of her thighs. He reddened at the sight of the green contrasting sharply with the fair skin. If it had tugged a little higher, the gentle swell of her arse would have been... He quickly averted his eyes and grabbed Harry's bedspread, yanking it free from where it was tucked neatly under the mattress, and placed it over her lower body.

Ron was at a loss.   _What was he supposed to do now?_ He turned away and rubbed his shoulder absentmindedly. He had planned on lying on his bed for a while, quietly contemplating their upcoming mission and its implications on his family. He wanted to think of all the other measures he could take to keep everyone safe. Everyone-including Harry... and Hermione, of course.

Despite what he told his best friends, he was scared- the entire situation was fucking barmy on a lot of levels. Ron knew no matter how hard they tried, in the end, they were going to be three inexperienced teenagers against a massive army of Death Eaters. The odds were oddly screwed. Unless of course, Dumbledore had told Harry something that would help them swing things in their favour.

He turned, sighing softly at the sight of her sleeping form. He knew the past few weeks had been very hard on her, and wished he could do more. Hermione was the one who made his resolve stronger. Yes, of course, he'd face the snake-faced bastard who was after Harry's life but there was more to it. Hermione belonged in this world, and anyone who thought otherwise could go snuff it. She deserved a world that did not judge her on the basis of her blood, that gave her equal rights, a world where she'd be free to live and make her own choices. He'd be damned if he didn't fight against anyone or anything that challenged it.

He took two short steps and sat down next to Harry's bed, watching her. He could spend a lifetime looking at her-with her permission, of course, it would be exceptionally creepy otherwise. He averted his eyes at the thought.

For days now, all he wanted to do was pull her into his arms, just hold her close. But most often than not, he had to do with just watching her instead. He was sure she knew what he felt for her- she ought to. At times it seemed as if his whole family knew. How though, he had absolutely no clue.

She stirred in her sleep, mumbling something that sounded a lot like his name and he reddened. He rubbed his neck, only realising then that he had not put on a shirt since he had discarded the sweaty one earlier. Pushing himself on his feet, he walked quietly to the wardrobe. He had only just grabbed a fresh one when there was a soft gasp behind him.

“ _Ron?”_

He was absolutely sure there was something different in the way his name sounded from her lips, and he could feel the maddening thumping of his heart. There were emotions only she ignited in him, feelings that were both mind-bogglingly new and yet familiar in a way that was hard to explain.  He rubbed his neck again before he turned, the shirt held limply in his hand.

“Hey…” he replied. For some unknown reason, his words came out in a whisper. Hermione visibly blushed and pulled the sheet closer to herself as she sat up, scooting towards the headboard. Her eyes flicked once towards his bare chest and he noted how her lips parted before she met his eyes. _Blimey..._

“How did I get here, Ron?” she asked softly.

He pictured a scenario where he was brave enough to walk up to her, take his place next to her on the bed, lift her chin up to meet her eyes and ask her the same thing. Instead, he scratched his day-old stubble and looked at his feet, surprised to find his shirt still in his hand. He looked between her and the article of clothing, growing steadily redder by the minute.

“I...umm, I'm not quite sure, y'know. Didn't realise you were here at first…” he mumbled and hurried to put on the shirt. When he looked at her again, there seemed to be some kind of regret in her eyes.

How long would they continue this game, he wondered. How hard would it be to tell her what, he assumed, she knew already?

Unbeknown, his feet carried him closer to her. She scooted towards the wall, giving him a nonverbal approval to the question he was just about to ask.

“You sure?” he asked instead, looking at the small space. They'd be too close if he took the proffered place and yet, not even half close as his heart desired.

“Yes,” she replied, looking up at him expectedly.

He sat down, her uncovered knees touching his thighs through his jeans and yet, triggering a pleasant shiver in him. Feeling a little brave, he placed his hand atop hers and rubbed the back of her palm with his thumb.

“I'm not sure either. I thought I was in _my_ bed,” she explained blushing, face inches from his, and he smiled. “I never realised this was yours…”

“It's okay,” he interjected, and she met his eyes through fluttering eyelashes, cheeks colouring. “More than okay in fact.”

“It is?” she asked quietly, expectantly. Ron knew they were once again skirting around the actual words.

“Y'know it is, ‘ermione,” he replied, trying his best not to blurt out the words at his lips. “Y'know whatever little I have is yours, if y'know, you want-”

Suddenly, her free hand moved up to his face, clasping over his lips and she clasped his hand with hers. He knew he couldn't say it aloud- not yet.

“Ron, I…”

His heart must have stopped beating as he waited for the rest of her words. But then she sucked in a breath and let out a soft, sad cry.

“Oh, I hate this war!”

He chuckled, feeling his lips brush against her open palm, and their eyes met suddenly. He had never seen those brown eyes darken that way. They were almost nose to nose. Her eyes dipped a little before she looked up again, cheeks flushed red. He exhaled through his mouth at the sight, craving more than ever to bridge the gap, to feel her lips on his. He noticed her suck in a breath, fingers still over his lips. Unable to hold back any further, he placed a small kiss on her palm and watched as she coloured to the roots of her hair, her hand shivered a little.

“Urgh, why are you making it so hard for me?” she whimpered when she had caught her breath, scooting closer, and let go of his hand which she was holding. She removed her palm from his lips too. Instead, she traced a finger across his forehead, adjusting his fringe, and ran it along the side of his face while her free hand clasped his shirt at the shoulder, pulling him even closer.

“What makes you think I'm finding this easy?” he breathed, “Having you so close and yet… so far?”

She met his eyes, faces so close that he could feel her breath on his mouth now. She seem to blur slightly- they had had their share of friendly hugs before, but they'd never been so close, emotionally ...and physically. After years and years of pinning for her secretly, worrying that she might never reciprocate his love, Ron suddenly came to the realisation that he had been an utter idiot all this time. _Fuck. How had he not seen it before?_ _Why hadn't he noticed when they still had time to be teenagers, when they weren't at the heart of a war?_

His arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her closer until she was practically on his lap, and Hermione buried her face in the crook of his neck. His free hand went around her waist, pulling her closer still- although by now, they were practically meshed into each other.

 

But it wasn't enough.

 

He placed his lips on her shoulder, breathing in her scent and Hermione shuddered softly against him. Before he could do more, he felt her lips against the sensitive skin under his ears, mouthing words they couldn't confess aloud... He took his time, breathing deeply, gripping her harder and peppering kisses along her neck and throat, repeating the words she had professed, over and over against her skin. Hermione let out the tiniest of whimpers each time, snuggling deeper into him.

 

 _Merlin, he didn't want to let her go_.

 

Ron wished they could Apparate away to a world where he could tell her aloud how much he loved her, make up for all the lost years. But they both knew they HAD to hold back from saying it for now, only because if they didn't, there would be no way he'd be able to focus on Harry or the hunt anymore.  

“Ron?”

“Hmm?”

“I think someone's coming.”

She pulled her arms away slowly, reluctance clearly evident on her face. “I'll have to go now,” she added with a small, sad smile. He nodded and released her, watching as she picked up her wand and reset the bedsheet on Harry's bed. She picked herself up from the bed and adjusted her dress; Ron could now hear footsteps beyond the door.

Hermione glanced at the door, and just before the door opened, she turned around and pressed her lips on his in the smallest of kisses. “I'm going to stay up reading in the living room after Ginny goes to bed tonight, okay?”

“Uh?” he managed, stunned.

Before she could say further, the door opened and Harry walked in. “Ron, don't you need to take a shower? The bathroom is finally free,” he informed.

“Sorry, but you'll have to wait for me to finish, Ron,” quipped Hermione as she walked out with one of the naughtiest smiles she had ever given him.

Harry, busy drying his wet hair with his wand, thankfully didn't notice as Ron's ears turned red and he hastily grabbed his pillow to place it on his lap. _Woah! Did she actually say what he thought he did?!_ He grinned to himself, he'd just have to ask her tonight after everyone went to bed...

  
……

  
  



End file.
